Freaks and Kids Who Don't Like Shirts
by Satan Abraham
Summary: Nobody was really sure why they'd bothered building a new school if they only let a hundred kids in - fifty male, fifty female - but there it was. It was too big for the small amount of people, but 'it would grow in population.' Yeah. Okay. And why does nobody ever wear a shirt in gym class?
1. Chapter One

"_Fucking _school districts, fucking random new school popping up in the middle of everything, fuck everything," Gary Barkovitch muttered under his breath as he walked to school, kicking an old Mountain Dew can ahead of him. There wasn't even a goddam _bus_ – though Barkovitch had never been a fan of the bus, it was better than walking when it was this freaking windy out, and now he had to go to this new school where he didn't know where _anything_ was, and though he hadn't been a fan of school in the first place, it was better when he knew where he was supposed to be going.

And what the hell was the point of him going here if he'd already spent his freshmen year at another school? It had been a hellish freshmen year, yeah, but he was pretty sure it was going to be a hellish sophomore year, too, just like it had been a hellish junior high and a hellish elementary school and a hellish life, basically. Not that it wasn't his fault, with his stupid incapability to keep his goddam mouth shut.

Where _was _this stupid place, anyway?

Barkovitch glanced around. Yep. He was lost. God _damn_ it. It was always him, wasn't it? Always fucking him. Well, maybe he could just turn around and head home and just skip today…

He turned around and realized he had no idea how to get home. Fuck. Well, he'd just have to wander around until he figured out where the hell he was. Home or that stupid school, whichever came first.

While he was walking, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, bent over against the wind that seemed to be blowing _harder, _if that was possible, an old car pulled up beside him. Barkovitch wondered if he should run, flip the guy off, or just ignore him.

"Are you lost?" the man in the car asked, and Barkovitch turned to look at a stupid-looking, huge guy who actually only looked a year or so older than him. Barkovitch decided that he didn't particularly want to talk to this shithead, so he kept walking. "Hey! That's not very nice, you kno-"

The man broke into a few curse words as his car sputtered and died. Barkovitch snorted and rolled his eyes, then decided that he should probably keep walking, and speed up a little, if possible. Damn school regulations not letting you carry a knife. Didn't those assholes care about the guys who needed the goddam protection?

After about an hour of wandering around later, Gary Barkovitch stopped in front of a huge, new-looking building. He glanced at his iPod. Oh. He was only about an hour and a half later. Wasn't that great.

He walked into the building a bit nervously, not liking the security cameras mounted on every corner and the fact that the office door was open and right in front of the main doors so he couldn't even sneak to class unnoticed. He had his schedule, after all – it had been sent in the mail about a week before school started. It was right in his pocket – damn it, he'd lost it. This was just_ great._

"Excuse me?" the woman in the office called, and Barkovitch sighed. If he ran bad things would only happen, and he didn't feel like getting in trouble on the first day. There'd be plenty of that later, he supposed, so he could just head to the office now. "Late on your first day? That's not the best way to start your high school career."

"I'm a sophomore," Barkovitch snapped. Damn growth spurt that hadn't happened yet. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "I got lost on the way here."

"Well, get to class," the woman said. Barkovitch bit his lip.

"I. Um. Lost my schedule," he said. The woman rolled her eyes.

"Name?"

"Gary Barkovitch."

She printed off a new schedule and pushed it into his hands. "Your locker's on the first floor, number five. Not too far from here. I'll call your teacher and tell him you'll be coming."

Barkovitch nodded and left the office, adjusting his backpack and staring down at the schedule. It was second period, right? English. Fuck. Better than History, he supposed, that subject was just freaking useless, but things in English were never _definite, _and that always screwed with Barkovitch's head. But he could figure that shit out while he was wandering the halls, trying to figure out where the hell he was supposed to be.

He dropped his backpack and shit off at his locker, grabbing a pen from one of the side pockets and sticking it in his jean pocket.

He then went to figure out where he was supposed to be.

He found the English room after about ten minutes, twenty minutes still left of second period. Jesus _Christ, _they couldn't make this school any less complicated?

He opened the door as quietly as he could – even though it was a new door, it squeaked, what the hell was up with that – and slid into the room. All discussion stopped and all eyes turned to Barkovitch –

Oh shit.

Shit, shit, _shit._

That was Rank. That was _Rank, _second row, closest to the windows. Barkovitch almost subconsciously reached for his pocketknife, then remembered that it wasn't _fucking there _because _school policy _and _his parents had even goddam checked him for it this morning. _Rank grinned at him and Barkovitch considered bolting.

"Well?" the English teacher asked, raising an eyebrow. Barkovitch swallowed and looked at him.

"What," he said flatly. The English teacher rolled his eyes. He wasn't too old – mid to late twenties, looked like he hated life and spent most of his time out of school drinking and wondering why the hell he'd become a teacher.

"Why are you late?"

"Got lost," Barkovitch muttered.

"Just in this school? It's not very large."

"Trying to get her in the first place," Barkovitch said, reddening a little. The English teacher nodded slowly and gestured toward the only empty seat in the room – right in front of Rank, great, this day just kept getting better and better – and Barkovitch walked quickly, stepping over some wiseass's foot that had been stuck out to trip him for _no apparent reason_, slumping down into the chair and jumping as a copy of Fahrenheit 451 was dropped onto his desk.

"I believe in starting the curriculum immediately. How things work in my class is we read a book and discuss it thoroughly, maybe watch the movie if there is one, and then we have two weeks of grammar. And repeat."

Barkovitch swallowed and nodded, wondering how long he could ignore Rank pushing on the back of his chair.

…

To be honest, Abraham had just taken this 'Advanced Physical Education' bullshit because he had nothing better to do. He was a senior, he only had a few credits that he needed to get before he could graduate, but, hell, his entire day was filled up with classes. He worked weekends. He was going to go out for both basketball and track. This school wouldn't be like the last, where he was the 'funny' guy.

Nope. He was going to be taken seriously here.

But first he'd have to find his shorts.

This school didn't pass out gym uniforms, something that was good and bad – good because he preferred his clothes to other people's, bad because he'd somehow lost his shorts. His shirt was there, but his shorts… were probably at home on the table. Oops. Great start, there, Abe.

"You gonna stand there all day?"

Abraham turned around to face a blond kid without a shirt. He wasn't quite as tall as Abraham was, but he made up for it in muscle. Seriously, this guy was _built. _"Forget a shirt?" he asked.

"Forget _pants_?"

"Yeah," Abraham said. The blond snorted and threw a pair of shorts at him. "Thanks?"

"I grabbed two pairs of shorts instead of a shirt," the blond said. He stuck out his hand. "Collie Parker."

"Abraham," Abraham said, taking the hand. Collie Parker just looked at him.

"Got a first name? Or is that your first name?"

"Nah, I've got a first name, but I'm so used to going by Abe or Abraham that I wouldn't respond if you called me it anyway, so it doesn't really matter," Abraham replied. Parker nodded.

"Makes sense. Well, wanna head out?" Parker asked, heading for the door of the locker room, still shirtless. Abraham hurriedly put his shorts on and grabbed his shoes, following Parker and passing the very few people left.

Once they were in the gym, Abraham put on and tied his shoes while he listened to Parker argue with the Gym teacher – uh, 'Advanced Physical Education' teacher. It was pretty hilarious, especially when a girl walked over and asked why she couldn't take off her shirt, too.

Eventually everyone stood shirtless, the girls in their sports bras, of course.

Abraham was liking this class already.

"Christ, you need to fucking eat," Parker said, poking Abraham in the ribs. Abraham jerked away, grinning.

"I do eat. Fast metabolism," he said. Parker rolled his eyes. "Seriously, it's a thing. Look it up."

"Who has the goddam time," Parker sighed. "I fucking failed so many classes when I was a freshman I have to make 'm all up now."

"I passed them all. Barely," Abraham said. His highest grade had been an eighty-five. "But I've still got a full day. And zero period, too…"

Parker looked at him, extremely confused. "Why?" he asked.

"I want to be taken seriously," Abraham said, shrugging and grinning a little. "I've got a job too. And I'm going out for track. And basketball-"

"You're going to fucking kill yourself!"

"If you two are done…?" the gym teacher asked, and Abraham and Parker noticed that everyone else had gone quiet and was staring at them. Oops. "Now, I was just saying that we'd kick off the year with a PACER test, just to see what your cardiovascular health is at. Everyone _should _get at least fifty – healthy standard for girls in thirty-one, guys is forty-one, but I have high hopes for this class."

"I fuckin' hate him already," Parker muttered to Abraham. Abraham grinned again, mentally hitting himself with a brick for taking this class. It would help him get fit for basketball and track, yeah, but he really hated that stupid PACER test.

Seven billion beeps and sixty 'laps' later, Abraham left the group of boys and girls running the test and collapsed on a mat.

"Keep moving, Abraham! You'll stiffen up!" the teacher yelled.

"Shut up," Abraham muttered into the mat. He turned his face so that he could watch Parker run – he didn't even look like he was breathing hard yet. He was sweating, yeah, but it didn't look like he was really struggling.

Parker was running long after the rest of them had dropped out – a hundred and eleven laps. Once Parker stopped running, the gym teacher gave him a 'hundred percent fruit ice cream bar thing' that actually looked pretty good. Pomegranate.

Once they got back to the locker room to shower – Parker showered cold, Abraham next to him in near-hellish temperatures – and get dressed for their fourth period class, and Parker opened up the fruit bar.

Abraham reached over his shoulder and grabbed it, taking a bite out of the top and ignoring the brain freeze.

"Hey!" Parker protested, turning around and wrestling it from him. Abe grinned, not letting go, as Parker pushed and pulled and eventually jerked the thing free. By then, the fruit bar was beginning to melt and a bit of it dripped to the floor. "Bastard."

"You know you love me," Abraham said, grinning. Parker shoved him and he managed to catch himself with the wall, laughing. "What do you have next?"

"Fuckin' British Literature," Parker said. "English was the one of the only classes I didn't screw up."

"Hey, me too!"

And thus a wonderful bromance was born.

…

Priscilla wasn't sure about this.

She'd been on the very edge of the school district – she could've kept going to her old school, or she could come here. To this new, smaller, cleaner school. She'd thought it would be a good idea – after all, new was always better, right?

The first half of her day had been wonderful, and now she was standing in line for lunch – the school had only about a hundred students, nine through twelve, and lunch actually looked decent. She'd come a bit early for her zero period German III class, and she'd seen the workers in the kitchen actually _making_ food instead of shoving frozen things into the oven. Then in Advanced Physical Education, some kid had come in without a shirt and she'd taken off hers too as protest.

Suddenly the dress code for gym class had been stretched quite a bit. Nobody had worn a shirt, and it had been pretty fun. The guy who had come in without a shirt in the first place was pretty hot. So were a few other guys, and a few of the guys, too, like a girl with long, dark blond hair.

She'd ended up behind this girl in the line, and she decided to talk to her. "Hey," she said. The girl turned around and Priscilla was met with a surprisingly innocent, intelligent face. She hadn't looked like that while sprinting up and down the gym.

"Hello," she said, smiling. "I'm Jan."

"Priscilla," Priscilla replied. The outright friendliness in the girl's face unnerved her a bit.

"How are you liking it here so far? I like it; the teachers seem to know what they're doing and nobody seems to be too angry, apart from that boy in gym class –"

Right after Jan said this, a short, dark boy fell flat on his face, jumped up, and starting shouting obscenities at the boy from gym class, who was already eating with his ginger friend. Jan laughed.

"Okay," she said. "I take it back."

"Every school has its assholes," Priscilla said, shrugging, and this was apparently funny to Jan, because she began to laugh harder. Soon Priscilla was laughing, too, and the two only stopped when someone ran into Priscilla, causing her to stumble forward. Jan caught her and righted her.

Not paying attention to the bespectacled boy trying to apologize, Priscilla looked at Jan. Jan back at her. "We should probably keep moving with the line," Priscilla said at last, and Jan nodded.

…

Before the end of the day, Gary Barkovitch made sure to look up how to get home on Google Maps so that it wouldn't take him two hours again. This time in the library gave him time to let everyone else get out first, so that he wouldn't be noticed and possibly brutally murdered.

"Do you not know how to get home?"

Oh great, who's this asshole?

Barkovitch turned around to see a blond kid in a positively _bizarre _ensemble. Seriously, was he colorblind? He also held several thick books under one arm – Barkovitch saw titles such as 'The Stand', 'Creature', and, weirdly enough, 'Alice in Wonderland.'

Alright.

What the fuck was up with this weird kid who liked mainstream horror and classic children's books.

"Well?"

"No," Barkovitch muttered, grabbing the directions from the printer and shouldering his way past the freak. It seemed that in avoiding the idiots, he'd found the freak.

* * *

**this just looked fun **

**so**

**i decided to start a highschool au because**

**why not and there will be janilla**

**there will be parkeraham**

**there will be barkovitch/Stebbins friendship**

**there will be bakeraham**

**there will be parkovitch**

**there will be gavries even though neither of them showed up in this chapter**

**it'll just be**

**fun**


	2. Chapter Two

**you busy?**

God _damn _it, how had he gotten her new number? With her new phone, she didn't have his number plugged in, but she recognized it, of course. Peter McVries, her ex-boyfriend. One of the reasons she'd _left_ that other school. She'd cut open his face and he'd had to have stitches, and he still wouldn't leave her alone. Couldn't the boy take a hint?

**yep**

She left it at that, wondering if she should perhaps turn off her phone. She was already running late for her zero period German, and even though the first few days were always a bit slow – Priscilla wasn't quite sure why they started school on a Wednesday, they couldn't get anything done the first week then – she wanted to be on time. This year was the year the third year language classes took a big trip to Europe. It was a bit disappointing that Jan, the only friend she'd made yesterday, wasn't in her German class, but instead took French, but maybe with a school this small, they'd all take the same route?

But she could worry about that later; she needed to get to class.

Priscilla loved her car; she'd bought it entirely on her own and though it was used, it still was a beauty. Not too old, and not all big and clunky. It hadn't been too cheap, but nothing she couldn't afford with her summer/after school job at the local coffee shop.

She pulled into the school parking lot five minutes before her class. Priscilla had to sprint to her locker to shove her bag in and grab what she needed, deciding to keep her cell phone on her. If German got too boring, she could always text Jan.

She slid into class one minute before she'd be late. The teacher wasn't there yet, and Priscilla sat next to a ginger – the ginger friend of that kid that had not worn a shirt yesterday in gym. "Running a little late?" he asked, grinning.

Priscilla nodded, unlocking her phone and sending a quick text to Jan. After talking yesterday over lunch, they'd realized that they both had a zero period language class, and Jan would probably be bored.

**bored? **

**Don't you have class right now?**

**yep. **

**I don't usually text in class…**

**c'mon, you won't get caught, nobody really cares**

Just then, the German teacher walked in. "Phones away," she said, and Priscilla sent a quick goodbye to Jan. If she'd been early enough to nab a seat in the back, she would've just kept texting her, but her and Ginger had decided to sit up front.

The class went by slowly, though Priscilla did enjoy learning German. Languages had always come easy to her, though English was another story. She had a feeling that she'd get an A-, and it was only the second day. She _needed _to get good grades her senior year of high school, or she wouldn't get a good scholarship, and paying for all of her college wouldn't be good. Loans were a bitch, and it would be the best to get as few loans as possible. She didn't want to end up an article in some magazine telling you what _not _to do with your money.

Priscilla knew what to do with her goddam money. Save. Save and only spend what you need. It was why she only bought cute clothes when they were on sale – as in, she'd only buy those cute skinny jeans if they were five dollars or less. Thrift stores had become her best friend. And, as a result, she had quite a bit in a savings account. She usually kept about fifty dollars on her for emergencies.

"You alright? You sorta seem to be spacing out," Ginger said, waving a hand in front of Priscilla's face. Priscilla jumped. Ginger grinned. "You feel up for some breakfast this morning?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry, who are you?" Priscilla asked, gathering up her books and heading out of the classroom. Ginger followed her.

"Abraham," he said. "Last name, but I probably wouldn't answer to my first name if you called me by it, so I decide to just not tell people what it is."

"I'm Priscilla," Priscilla said, studying Abraham. He was tall – very tall, about six five or six six, perhaps – and on the skinny side. His hair was a reddish color, enough so that you could tell that he was ginger, but not an overly, gaudy red. He had an open, smiling, handsome face dotted with freckles. The clothes he wore weren't too fancy, but they looked new and well taken-care of. Or, as well taken-care of as a teenage boy's clothes could be.

"Yeah, you're the chick that got all the other chicks to take off their shirts yesterday, right?" Abraham asked. Priscilla barely refrained from rolling her eyes. "I mean, 'cause of Collie."

"Your blond friend?" Priscilla asked. _With the nice… ah… physique?_

"Yep," Abraham said. "He let me borrow a pair of shorts."

"Oh," Priscilla said, nodding. She'd just spotted Jan out of the corner of her eye and really wanted to end this conversation as soon as possible. She liked Abraham from what she'd seen so far, but she didn't want to miss Jan. "I've got to go talk to someone, sorry."

With that, she broke away from Abraham and ducked through the crowd, nearly running over a few little freshmen. She didn't care about them, though, Jan looked like she was getting sucked into the world of some brown-haired boy and his dark-haired friend.

His… dark-haired… scarred… friend.

Shit.

Of everyone, why _him?_

…

Thankfully, Barkovitch had managed to get to school on time the second day. He'd studied the map he'd printed off of Google the night before instead of doing his stupid English homework – seriously, who gave homework on the first day? He didn't fucking care that books burned at the temperature Fahrenheit 451, honestly, if they had to read something, couldn't they read something _relevant? _And maybe from this _century?_

It took him a while to find his first class, Geometry, but he did manage to make it on time. He also managed to snag a seat in the back corner, so that he could ignore people and _Rank couldn't sit behind him and annoy the shit out of him._ Thankfully, Rank decided to sit elsewhere – maybe he didn't see Barkovitch? Hopefully. Barkovitch was not in the mood for him today.

He decided that he could skip the next class. He hadn't gotten his homework done, Rank was probably going to be an asshole, he could just wait it out in the library. Hide between the shelves. Pretend that he was supposed to be there. Something like that.

Barkovitch had just gotten comfortable in the back of the school library, sandwiched in-between a bookshelf and the wall, headphones in and scrolling through the songs on his iPod, when the freak from yesterday showed up in front of him.

"Shouldn't you be in class right now?" the freak asked mildly, and Barkovitch looked up.

"Shouldn't _you_?" was all he said. The freak shook his head and sat down across from him on the floor. Barkovitch, immediately uncomfortable, stood up and made to leave. _God_, this kid was weird.

Unfortunately, just before he got in view of the door he heard a voice he really didn't want to hear.

It was that blond, senior asshole that had tripped him the other day. "Goddam!" he heard the guy shout. "Abe, you see how goddam full of books this goddam place is?"

"Do you even have a vocabulary?" a deep voice asked, presumably Abe. "And if we're gonna skip class, why are we doing it in the library?"

"Because this period there's never _anyone_ in here," the blond replied. "'Cept that pussy 'library assistant' or whatever. 'S probably some chick with glasses."

"Stereotyping, are we?" It was the freak – Christ, Barkovitch really needed to know his name because there were so many goddam freaks in this place he couldn't differentiate between them – once again. "I'm the library assistant, if you don't mind."

Barkovitch peered through the books to see Blondie and the Freak facing off, some ginger that he supposed was Abe in the background. It would probably be in his best interests to leave _right the fuck now_, but this looked interesting. As long as he wasn't seen, it would be fine, right? Right.

"'If you don't mind', Jesus fucking Christ," Blondie snorted. "Just let us skip class here and you won't get hurt."

"You're good at being a thug," Abe observed. "Have much practice?"

"Shut up Abraham, I'm trying to do something," Blondie snapped. Freak raised an eyebrow. "Stop looking at me like that, freak!"

Freak kept looking at him, and Blondie's hands went for the books, spilling about ten off of the shelf. Barkovitch leapt back; if anyone looked over through the books now they'd see him. Blondie wasn't looking around, but Abraham was.

"Hey, isn't that the prick you tripped yesterday?" he asked. Blondie glanced up and Barkovitch ducked, practically crawling back to his corner. Apparently he wasn't interesting enough to pursue, because for the next ten minutes all he could hear was Blondie arguing with Freak loudly, with Abraham's input every so often.

…

After Parker and Abraham left, Stebbins went to work on picking up the books. He really did hate guys like that; they really had no intellectual value at all and all they liked to do was hurt people. They hadn't hit him, but Stebbins had a feeling that if Abraham hadn't been there interjecting his sanity every so often, Parker would have.

Abraham wasn't really as bad a guy as Parker, but he still wasn't someone that Stebbins would like to be around.

"Hey."

Stebbins turned around to see the small, dark boy that had been in the library after school the other day, printing something off of Google maps. He'd accidentally printed out two and, as a result, Stebbins knew where he lived. He'd put the map in his backpack for safekeeping. The front pouch of his backpack was full of interesting things he'd found, information he needed, and a small, paperback copy of Alice in Wonderland.

"Um," the dark boy seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "So. You okay?"

"I wasn't under the impression that you cared about me," Stebbins said, re-alphabetizing the books. "You didn't step in."

"Are you fucking crazy? They would've killed me!" the dark boy said, backing away. "Christ, I was just trying to be _nice_, you don't have to-"

"It's alright," Stebbins said, finishing re-shelving the books and smiling at the dark boy, who looked unnerved. "I'm Stebbins, by the way. You?"

"Barkovitch," the dark boy said. The bell rang for the end of second period, and Barkovitch practically sprinted out of the library. Stebbins rolled his eyes. Now there was a weird kid.

* * *

**can you tell i really don't know where i'm going at all**

**like**

**at all**


	3. Chapter Three

Thank the fucking lord it was Friday.

It wasn't that Collie Parker hated school… okay, yeah, it was. It was just _so goddam annoying. _Why the hell did he care what exactly happened in World War II, or what the hell a gerund was, or how to do those goddam Punnet squares.

This was the attitude that had caused him to fail most of his classes his freshman year, which led to him having to repeat these stupid classes his senior year.

It was _so goddam humiliating. _There he was, sitting in this classroom with all these short people getting better grades than him.

The only bright time in his day was gym class. And lunch was good, but mostly gym class. He had it with Abraham, and nobody wore a shirt. Ever, it seemed. Even the girls. And Collie Parker wasn't really complaining about this.

After getting changed and throwing a pair of shorts at Abraham, who had forgotten them _again_, Parker made his way to the gym. He sat down on the bleachers, leaning back and resting his head on another bleacher seat a few rows above the one he was sitting on. He heard the gym slowly fill in, flicking one eye open when someone sat down next to him.

It was a boy with light blond hair and a sweet face. The kid was almost _pretty. _"Hey," Parker said, closing his eye again. The boy murmured a greeting.

…And then something – or some ginger weirdo – crashed into Parker, knocking him into the blond kid and onto the floor. Parker opened his eyes to glare at Abraham, who was grinning at him like a dog that had just… done something… doglike.

Fuck it.

Abraham just looked like a fucking golden retriever. Except ginger. And human.

Just then, Parker realized that he was crushing the blond kid's windpipe with his elbow, and he got off of him. Blond kid gasped for air, and his face, which had previously been dark purple, began to turn back to its normal color. "Oops," Parker said. Abraham howled with laughter.

"Great job Parker," he said, grinning.

"It's your fault, asshole," Parker said, shoving his legs and sending him sprawling. Abraham propped himself up on his elbows and shook hair out of his eyes, grinning. Parker turned back to the blond kid. "Blame Abraham."

Blond kid laughed a little. "Okay," he said. "I'm Art Baker."

"Collie Parker," Parker said. "The asshole is Abraham. The dick won't even tell me his first name."

"Assholes and dicks are completely different things," Abraham said. "Don't compare me to both in the same few sentences."

"Shut up."

For once, the gym teacher didn't have a plan for the day, so half-court basketball it was; girls on one side of the court, boys on the other. They shot for teams, using the free-throw line. Parker made his first shot, and so did Abraham, to Parker's surprise. Well, he did say he was going out for basketball… he wouldn't be too bad to have on the stupid, suckish team this school was bound to have with the few people in it.

Parker ended up getting Baker on his team, as well as some kid with a scar on his face and a guy who wouldn't shut up about how with him on the team, they were bound to go far. Abraham got a guy who looked like he couldn't tell his shirt from his shorts, a kid with glasses, and a guy that looked like he was going to spend the entire period winking at the girls on the other side of the gym.

Abraham was screwed.

"Okay, let's see how we're gonna do this… Baker, stay up by the free-throw line and try to stay open. Scarface, stick around post. You, float above the three point line and stay open. Can you shoot three pointers? No? Fine then, just play point. I'll stay down, play post. Baker, you've got winky-guy, Scarface, you've got four-eyes. And… you… you've got the stupid-looking one. I'll take Abe. Alright. Let's do this!" Parker said.

"The name's Hank Olson," the annoying kid said.

"Peter McVries," Scarface added.

"I don't fucking care. Let's go," Parker said, shoving his way through the people to stand beside Abraham who was, in correlation to his height, playing post.

Olson and winky-guy rock-paper-scissored for who got the ball first, and Olson won. Well, at least he could do one thing right.

"Olson!" Baker said as winky-guy drifted away to stare at girls, and Olson, between flashy dribbling and trying to freak out the stupid guy, who looked utterly bewildered, managed to pass him the ball. Baker shot… and Abraham tore away from Parker and stuffed him.

"Damn it," Parker said. "Abe! Why d'ya have to be so goddam tall?"

Abraham shot him a grin and passed the ball to four-eyes, who adjusted his glasses and passed to Abraham.

Parker tried to block him. But when Abraham got the ball over his head, there really wasn't anything he could do.

Damn.

He should've been point.

Forty minutes later, after being destroyed by Abraham's height, they dragged themselves off to the locker rooms. Parker saw Abraham stay behind a bit, to talk to the darker girl, the hot one that had taken her shirt off first on Wednesday. Lucky bastard.

…

Davidson really didn't care about basketball if there was something more interesting. Such as, girls in sports bras and spandex playing basketball on the other side of the court. Besides, Abraham had everything covered. The beast that was Collie Parker couldn't even make up for how many times Abraham had stuffed the other team members.

Davidson had shot a few times; a few three-pointers that had gone in for the most part. Davidson had always been good at long-range shots.

And now he was late for lunch, because he'd stayed behind too long in the gym and had taken too long in the shower. Shit.

Well, there looked like there was a spot to sit over there, by the weirdly-dressed kid… where did he even find that color of pants? Did he shop in the girls' section?

Didn't matter. It was the only place left to sit.

Davidson set his tray down across from the kid and shot him a smile. "Hey," he said. "I'm-" he choked on his milk while trying to say his first name. "Davidson."

The kid looked thoroughly freaked out.

"Stebbins," he said. Davidson grinned, and the kid darkened, opening a book and eating one-handed. What a freak.

…

Third day at school and Gary Barkovitch still didn't feel like heading to the cafeteria to eat lunch. It wasn't that he wasn't hungry; he was _fucking starving_, but he didn't feel like dealing with those pricks anymore. He had to deal with them in the hallways between classes and on the way home if he didn't hurry; wasn't that enough?

He headed outside and leaned against the school. Everyone was eating, apart from some loser freshmen who were tossing a football around. They wouldn't bother him. They'd just ignore him. And while Barkovitch didn't really like being ignored – God knew his parents did it often enough – he was fine with it for the moment.

"Hey! Barkovitch!"

Shit.

Of _course _that idiot Rank would eat quickly just to fuck with him.

_Of course._

The guy really held a grudge, didn't he?

Put a guy in the hospital _one time_ and he spends the rest of his damn life trying to murder you in the slowest and most painful way possible. And it was self-defense, too. And also the reason his parents had taken away the blade in the first place.

Barkovitch turned around. Woah, Rank had gotten close quickly.

"What do you want, asshole?" Barkovitch asked. Rank bared his teeth and Barkovitch very nearly winced away. He managed to stand his ground, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring. Rank shoved him, and he stumbled backward. "Get out of here."

"You know my dad got laid off and we didn't have health insurance or really any money to speak of? You know how much that fucking emergency visit cost?" Rank was screaming at him now. Barkovitch didn't really care. Besides, if Rank's mom had had a job, it wouldn't have been as bad.

"Maybe you shouldn't be such a dick and then you wouldn't get stabbed," Barkovitch said. "You weren't exactly blameless there, you know!"

Rank just looked furious now.

Shit.

Well, he was screwed now.

Rank shoved him again, this time with more force, and Barkovitch went down.

The only way he was going to get out of this one alive was if he were to knock Rank down and skip the last half of school.

And now there were kids surrounding them. Fuck. That made it even harder to escape.

Rank kicked at him and he rolled out of the way, blindly sticking his leg out in a weak attempt to trip Rank. Rank, while an idiot, wasn't quite that stupid. He'd been fighting with Barkovitch long enough to figure out how he tried to do things. Argue, try to act blameless when the other guy attacked, and then try to trip and get away. Or stab, last year.

Barkovitch decided that the best thing to do was just back up. Back up as fast as he could, crash through the people blocking his way, stand up, and fucking _sprint._

So he did just that. Except he had the misfortune of backing straight into Collie Parker, who grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him up. Barkovitch twisted and debated slipping out of his shirt before deciding that that was a stupid idea.

"What're you so pissed off at this guy about?" Parker asked Rank, who seemed to be having a stroke, he was breathing so heavily. If that was what having a stroke did to you. Barkovitch didn't know anything about strokes.

"Let go of me, Blondie," Barkovitch snapped, and Parker looked a bit surprised.

"Actually, I get you. I kinda want to beat him up, too," Parker said. Barkovitch twisted some more and Parker, who had evidently forgotten he was holding onto Barkovitch, let go. "But I'll leave you to it. See ya."

…

Barkovitch dragged himself to his afternoon classes, half-wanting to blow up the world, half wanting to fall asleep and never wake up again. Parker had left a gap, but said gap had quickly filled in with kids wanting to see blood. At this point Barkovitch had basically given up on escape, or anything, really.

On his way out of the school, he ran into Parker _again. _"Huh. So he did end up doing it," Parker said.

"What did you expect?" Barkovitch snapped, shouldering his way past Parker. Parker grabbed onto his shoulder and spun him around. "What the hell do you want?"

"I wasn't done talkin' to you. _Jeez-us_, you have the worst goddam people skills I've ever fucking seen," Parker said. "Don't know why I even bother."

"Bother what? Annoying me?" Barkovitch retorted, wondering if he could get away if he made a run for it. "'Cause, seriously Blondie, that's all you're doing."

"Alright, listen here, you little prick," Parker said. Uh-oh. He was getting angry now. Barkovitch truly had a gift for talking to people. "I was checkin' to see if you were… fuckin' okay, or whatever. The guy looked like he was out for blood. Christ, what'd you do to him?"

"Why do you care?" Barkovitch asked, turning and heading down the steps at the front of the school.

And then Parker shoved him.

…

Shit.

He really shouldn't have done that.

The little prick had just made him so _mad_, but now…

Oh shit.

Was he fucking _dead? _

Oops.

He wasn't moving, but he could be just lying there. Oh fuck, what if he'd seriously hurt him? He'd probably be suspended if he put him in the hospital. Shit. That was stupid.

Parker hurried down the steps and nudged the kid's shoulder with his foot. The kid twitched and hid his face in his arms. Nope. Not dead.

Well, then Parker didn't really care.

"Okay. Not dead. Don't goddam care anymore," Parker said, shrugging and heading to his car. Thank the fucking lord it was Friday.

* * *

**still don't know what i'm doing**


	4. Chapter Four

Abraham was getting dressed for work when Parker called him.

"What?" he asked upon answering the call. Parker snorted.

"Aren't you polite," he said. "Anyway. You doing anything today?"

"I've got work," Abraham said. "Eight until five. After that I think I'm free… yeah, I've got tomorrow to do homework."

"Homework," Parker said. Abraham could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Hold on, where do you work?"

"…Polar King," Abraham said. "I'm a fry cook."

Parker burst out laughing and Abraham debated hanging up on him. "I'll come visit you," Parker promised. "For lunch. You get a lunch break, don't you?"

"Oh my god, am I being asked out on a _date_?" Abraham asked, badly mimicking a girl voice. It was especially hilarious considering how deep his voice is. "I'll be sure to wear a clean polo for my date."

Parker snorted again. "See ya then, Abe."

Abraham grinned and hung up. Then he looked at his watch.

Shit.

He was going to be late.

…

Gary Barkovitch had crashed at his older brother's house the night before, not wanting his mom to freak out and call the school once she saw what Rank had done to him. That stupid Rank. He'd had to sleep on the tiny couch in his older brother's tiny apartment and it had sucked. His back hurt. His foot was asleep. It was about ten o'clock and he was fucking starving.

"Hey, I'm going to head to Polar King for lunch," Joshua Barkovitch said, flopping down onto the couch and effectively crushing Gary's legs. Gary kneed him in the back. "Wanna come and tell me why you showed up at my house at five P.M. looking like you'd just been used as a punching bag?"

Gary made a face. "Not really," he said. Josh just looked at him. "I don't have a choice, do I?" Josh shook his head. Gary sighed. "Great."

"You've got until noon. Get showered. I think you left some clothes here the last time you stayed over," Josh said. "And if you can't wait until noon to eat something, there's some leftover spaghetti in the fridge."

Gary managed to wriggle his way out from under his brother and went to go warm up the spaghetti. He didn't bother getting a bowl, instead eating right out of the container with half of a plastic fork he found in a cupboard. Josh looked at him and rolled his eyes. "High schoolers."

"You're only twenty-five," Gary pointed out between mouthfuls of noodles. He sucked one up too fast and it hit him in the face. He pretended that it hadn't. "You were in high school only a little bit ago. It's not like you're fifty."

"Speaking of high school, how are your classes?" Josh asked. It was Gary's turn to roll his eyes. It seemed that the Barkovitch code of 'I get along with this person' was the rolling of the eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me. Taking a foreign language yet?"

"I don't see why we have to," Gary muttered. "It's not like I'm ever going anywhere that doesn't speak English. I'll probably just shove Spanish in next year and the year after and be done with it."

"Nothing cool? Not Russian or something?" Joshua asked. Gary snorted.

"Fuck no. That's too complicated. Spanish is supposed to be the easiest," Gary said. "And German's too weird and French is too… _French."_

"What's wrong with French?" Joshua asked. He'd taken two years of French. And then two years of Russian. And then both in college.

Gary did get along with his brother, but there were times that he just wanted to hit him for being so good at everything. As well as getting straight A's in high school, Joshua had also been in three varsity sports and the speech team. Whereas Gary barely managed his C's and wasn't in any extracurricular activities. Why should he be? Nothing in that stupid school was worth his fucking time.

His mom had been looking at making him do something. He sure as hell hoped she wouldn't.

"Shower before noon," Joshua said, turning on the TV. Gary finished off the spaghetti, dumped the container in the sink, and headed to the bathroom to shower.

…

It took Collie Parker way longer than it should have to find Polar King. Abraham had oh-so-thoughtfully not told him the address so he'd had to look it up online and, as a result, showed up more at one than he did at noon. Abraham was probably starving.

Oops.

"You're late," was Abraham's first words to Parker. He walked out of the kitchen, hung up his apron, and yelled that he was going to take his lunch break. He wore black, pocket-less pants and a white polo. "C'mon, let's eat. I'm fucking starving."

"I figured you were," Parker said, shrugging. He noticed the creepy stuffed polar bears hanging from the ceiling. They were all in various dresses. "This is so goddam creepy. Abe, why do you work at such a creepy place?"

"It was either this or McDonald's, and who wants to work at McDonald's? I mean, I do like the Shamrock Shakes, don't get me wrong-"

"Figures," Parker said. "You're fucking ginger, of course you'd like the Shamrock Shakes."

Abraham gaped. "What- you just- I'm _not even Irish, you asshole!"_

"Also leprechauns are supposed to be short, aren't they?" Parker said, looking Abraham up and down. The guy was even taller than him, and Parker had broken six feet. "You're at least six three or six four. Six six maybe."

Abraham looked like he was going to see more, but then he spotted someone behind Parker and grinned. "Priscilla! What are you doing here?" he asked. Parker turned and, sure enough, there was the pretty girl that was in their gym class. The one who was probably going to be Abraham's girlfriend sooner or later.

"To pick up an application," Priscilla said.

"I thought someone like you would've already had a job?" Abraham asked. Priscilla sighed.

"I do," she said. "It's for Jan. She was going to grab an application and then we were going to catch lunch with her boyfriend and his 'new best friend.' She keeps trying to set me up with him. But, she's late, and I bet her boyfriend and his friend are, too."

"She should set you up with me," Abraham remarked. "Except I'm taken this Saturday. Parker's already stolen me away."

With that, he slumped against Parker, who caught him on reflex. Parker then dropped him, but he managed to slam his hand down on a table and not fall on what looked like a dirty floor. Parker wasn't going to mention that the floor was dirty to Abraham, though. He was more concerned about the stuffed polar bears in dresses.

"Pris!" someone who Parker supposed was Jan called, and Priscilla turned around, a huge smile on her face. Was she a lesbian? No, she seemed kind of into Abe. She probably liked both. Whatever. She'd made a goddam friend.

Priscilla's smile melted away, however, when she saw who was with Jan. It was some boring-looking blond kid and the guy that he'd played basketball with. Scarface. Peter McVries.

"Oh my god," Priscilla muttered. "Not _him _again."

"Ex-boyfriend?" Abraham guessed. Priscilla nodded and he blinked. "Woah. Didn't think I was right."

"Well, you are. And he's an ex-boyfriend I don't ever want to see again," she said. She stalked over to the three, shoved the application into Jan's hands, and stomped back. "I'm joining you for lunch. Abraham, you're my boyfriend for the day."

"But I'm Parker's boyfriend for the da-"

"No. You're mine," Priscilla said, grabbing his hand and yanking him over to a booth. "Parker, you order us some food. Anything's fine. But make sure you get some ice cream that me and Abraham can share."

Parker usually didn't like being ordered around by anyone, but one look from Priscilla and he was off, ordering food and her precious ice cream cone. He got them plain vanilla, because while he suspected Abraham liked chocolate, he wasn't sure about Priscilla and you could never go wrong with Priscilla. He waited for his food at the front of the restaurant, because Priscilla was arguing with Jan and Peter McVries loudly, gripping Abraham's hand until his fingers turned white, while boring kid looked on uneasily. Yeah. He'd stay here.

After a few more minutes, Jan, Pete, and boring kid went to sit at another table and Parker started to carry the food back to their booth. A familiar, annoying voice stopped him in his tracks, though.

"Jesus _Christ_, can we leave?"

Gary Barkovitch.

The prick he'd shoved down the stairs the other day and thought he'd killed.

Goddam it, could the prick not leave him alone for a day?

…

Gary Barkovitch sighed as Josh grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up to the cash registers. "What do you want?"

"I don't fucking care," Gary muttered, crossing his arms. Collie Parker was here. And so was his freaky ginger friend. And the hot chick. "Can we go?"

"No. We're having lunch here and you're telling me what happened," Josh said. Gary sighed again.

"Can you not be perfect for a second here? Mom already hates me, you can drop the act," he muttered. Josh actually looked hurt for a bit, but he recovered quickly.

"I'll get you ice cream," he decided.

"Hey- wait- no- Josh, I'm _hungry_! I don't want ice cream, I want something to eat!" Gary was throwing a tantrum now. He didn't particularly care that he sounded like a three year-old. Apart from the part about him not wanting ice cream.

"Hold on – Josh _Barkovitch_?"

Oh this was just fucking great.

It seemed that Collie Parker was one of his brother's fangirls.

Josh turned around to face Parker, a grin on his face. "Yeah," he said. "You're…?"

"The asshole that shoved me down a set of stairs," Gary muttered. Josh elbowed him. "Ow."

"Collie Parker," Parker said. "It's just… wow, you're goddam amazing at basketball. I mean, I used to go to your games when I was younger and… you're just… goddam amazing. I'm hopin' that the team this year'll be good enough; we've got me and Abe, and he's the best post player a guy could wish for, he's so goddam tall he can stuff near anyone. But, uh, yeah, if you have free time ever, d'ya think you could maybe… give us some pointers?"

"Before basketball season or during?" Josh asked. "Not that it makes any difference."

"Well, before'd be great, but I think the assistant coach position is open, too…" Parker trailed off and Josh grinned. Gary sighed. Great. This was just fucking great.

"How many guys do you have for the team?" Josh asked. Parker looked like he was thinking. It must have been quite a feat for someone like Parker, to think like that.

"Well there's me, Abe, Olson, probably, that winky-guy maybe… McVries and his boring friend… maybe I can convince Ewing… Rank, maybe…" Parker said. Josh gave Gary a look that Gary _did not like. _

"No," Gary said. Parker realized what Josh was insinuating and looked like he wanted to protest, too. "I'm not doing it. I haven't touched a basketball since fourth grade."

"You've got to do something-"

"_Rank, _Josh," Gary said. "He hates me. He nearly fucking killed me yesterday."

"So it was Rank," Josh said, nodding slowly. "Well, you'll have to-"

"No," Gary said, shaking his head. "No."

But deep down, he knew he was going to end up playing basketball.

* * *

**oh look we're shoving that basketball au I never finished in here**


	5. Chapter Five

After the Priscilla incident, Peter McVries felt the need for an extreme distraction.

So he ate quickly. Garraty noticed this and looked at him curiously. "We should get stuff for basketball," McVries said. "Shoes, shorts, things like that."

"Aren't you in gym – er, 'Advanced Fitness?'" Garraty asked. McVries shrugged.

"Yeah, but you're not. Feel up to coming with us, Jan?" he asked. Jan shook her head. She was watching Priscilla choke the life out of the ginger's hand and aggressively share an ice cream cone with him. "Then I guess it's just us."

He tried to smile at Garraty but it came out feeling fake. Meeting Priscilla had hurt more than he'd care to admit. The scars were still fresh – literally, in the case of the one on his face. It wasn't like at school, where she was at least civil to him. She'd freaked out. She'd been so excited to see Jan but he'd put her in a bad mood and, as a result, made Jan sad as well. The day was ruined _and it was all his fault. _He'd ruined _everything_, and he was probably tearing Garraty away from plans he'd had with Jan, but Peter McVries had always been _so incredibly selfish and needy _and he needed a distraction. He'd take Ray Garraty shoe shopping and then take him to the new Marvel movie. He'd buy Ray Garraty popcorn and an extra-large Coca-Cola.

He'd distract himself until he got home and then he'd collapse on his bed and not move until Monday, probably. He might lunge at his phone when it buzzed, hoping that it was Priscilla and 'she'd made a mistake' and 'she wanted to go out again' or Ray Garraty would work, too. He'd been texting Garraty a lot lately. He'd immersed himself in Garraty, like he was a new, male Priscilla, though that was silly. Garraty was a blond, straight guy with a steady girlfriend.

Garraty finished eventually and gave a good-bye kiss to Jan, who went over to join Priscilla, Ginger, and Collie Parker. McVries drove, Garraty played with the radio. They settled on the 'Real Rock Radio' that tended to alternate between ACDC, The Doors, and new rock hits from Shinedown, Three Days Grace, and Papa Roach. It was quiet apart from the guitar solos, but it was a nice quiet. A calm quiet. One that McVries didn't feel the need to get lost in his thoughts in, one where he could just listen to the music and enjoy the company of his friend.

They stopped in front of the JC Penny's entrance to the mall. Maybe they'd have some shoes that Garraty could use, and they could always be on sale.

Also, this mall had eight theaters. It had taken out Priscilla's favorite clothing store and moved the Orange Julius in with Dairy Queen, but it was nice.

On the way through to the shoe section, they passed a rack of five dollar skinny jeans. Exactly the kind of skinny jeans Priscilla would like. McVries grabbed a pair of red-and-black skinny jeans on impulse and headed up to buy them. Once got back to Garraty, he realized what he'd done and sighed. "I can't stop buying her stuff," he muttered.

"Priscilla?" Garraty asked. McVries nodded. Garraty continued looking through the shoes.

"I guess I'll just drop them in her mailbox," he said. "No shame in letting them go to waste or anything."

"No offense, McVries, but that's a little creepy," Garraty said, waving off an employee that wanted to help. He tried on a shoe. "This fits. Hey, do you think you could find me some basketball shorts? Medium."

"On it," McVries said, leaving the skinny jeans beside Garraty and heading off to find Garraty some shorts. It didn't take long, soon enough he found a pair of black, medium-sized basketball shorts. He stared at the skinny jeans he'd bought while Garraty paid for his shoes and shorts. "Feel up to a movie?"

Garraty glanced at his watch and shrugged. "Why not?" he said. "We could catch the matinee of that new Marvel one."

McVries smiled. Yeah. This would distract him enough.

…

"Take me home," Gary Barkovitch said. After the Polar King fiasco, they'd gone back to Josh's house. Josh, it seemed, didn't know when to shut up about that stupid basketball thing and, frankly, Gary was sick of it. So, as soon as they'd gotten back, he'd found his backpack and demanded to go home.

"Alright! We can tell Mom and Dad that you're going to be in baske-"

"Why do I have to?" Gary said. "I suck at basketball. Everyone that's going to be on the team hates me. You're suddenly best friends with the asshole that shoved me down the stairs."

"I don't think it will be that bad-"

"Of course you don't! Because it's never _been _that bad for you!" Gary was about to punch him in the face. _God, _he just didn't _get _it. "It's going to suck even worse than it already does! All I can do is pretend that it's not going to happen for a few months!"

Josh was silent for a bit. "Why don't you practice with me and Collie up until the season starts? If you really don't like it, then you won't do it. And I won't tell Mom and Dad," he said. Gary bit his lip. Well. If he managed to convince Josh that he was really too bad to even think about playing basketball and if him and Parker got in enough fights, then maybe it would work out.

"Fine," he said. "Whatever."

…

Priscilla stayed in Polar King with Parker and Jan until Abraham got off work. Jan had apologized over and over about the Peter incident, though Priscilla had forgiven her. "Besides, you don't need to set me up with anyone," Priscilla said. "I don't need a boyfriend. And if I did want one, I'd just use Abraham."

"Number one choice!" Abraham cheered. Parker hit him. "Ow."

"If I needed a boyfriend, I'd just use Abraham, too," Parker said, the epitome of seriousness. Then he burst out laughing.

"Me too," Abraham said. "Use me for a boyfriend, I mean."

Priscilla rolled her eyes. "Want to stay over tonight?" she offered Jan. "I ordered some DVDs off of Amazon and they should be here today. Pitch Perfect and The Perks of Being a Wallflower."

"Oh, I wanted to see The Perks of Being a Wallflower," Jan said, smiling. "Yeah, I'll come."

"We can pick up some food on the way back," Priscilla said. "Bye, Parker. Bye, Abraham."

As an afterthought, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Abraham on the cheek. He turned redder than his hair. Priscilla was glad that she was tall for a girl, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to reach Abraham's cheek.

Grabbing her coat, from Jan, she headed out the door. They stopped at Wal-Mart to grab Cheetos, candy corn, fancy chocolate, on-sale jelly beans from Easter, and microwave popcorn. Butter lovers and movie theater. They chatted about school, gym class and how hot Collie Parker and Davidson looked with their shirts off, movies that were coming out, new clothes they'd gotten and TV shows that they watched. Priscilla was a Supernatural fan. Jan liked Doctor Who. They both promised to show the other the pilot episodes of their favorite TV shows and hopefully induct them into the fan following.

In all, it was a fantastic evening until Priscilla got home, stopped at the mailbox and ended up with a pair of skinny jeans undoubtedly from Peter McVries.

* * *

**ok i sort of know where this is going now**


	6. Chapter Six

Joshua Barkovitch called him at seven-thirty.

Collie Parker was muttering curses under his breath as he went to answer it, and maybe answered a bit snappishly (Was "_What?_" a polite way to answer the phone?), but as soon as he realized who it was, his anger dissipated. "Oh, hi," he said. "Uh. Sorry about that. Thought it was Abe."

Joshua Barkovitch laughed. "Are you free today? I figured we'd teach my little brother the basics," he said. Parker, who still couldn't see how Barkobitch was in any way related to Joshua Barkovitch, almost agreed immediately. Then he thought about it. Did he _really _want to have to deal with Barkobitch just so he could get some pointers from possibly the best basketball player ever to hail from their shitty little town?

Yeah.

It was totally worth it.

"Yeah, alright," Parker said.

"Great!" Joshua Barkovitch said. "I'll pick you up, then we can go wake up Gary. I would get him first, but if we want to get this done in an efficient manner, I'll need help."

"Okay," Parker said. He really felt like hitting something right now. Of course, it was seven-thirty and he was awake and he was going to go wake up the most annoying little prick on the planet on the planet _on purpose_, so he did have an excuse.

"Can you tell me your address?"

"Yeah, sure…" Parker said, reciting it and hanging up. He later realized that he perhaps should have said good-bye, but he was too pissed to even think about it. He decided to take a hot shower and angrily sing songs from various musicals, because that always cheered him up. Especially when nobody was home, because little brothers tended to giggle at you if you sang and Parker didn't like being _giggled _at. Giggling in general was stupid. After about fifteen minutes of burning his skin off and angrily singing, Parker stepped out of the shower. He wrapped a towel around his waist and used another one to dry off his hair, leaving it sticking up at awkward angles that he honestly didn't give a fuck about.

It took him a while to find his spare pair of shorts – damn that Abraham for stealing his usual spare pair – and, as a result, answered the door half-naked. "Sorry," he muttered around a toothbrush. "I just woke up."

Joshua Barkovitch nodded, and Parker suddenly felt very awkward.

"You can come in if you want," he said. "Just… sit down or something. I'll be right back."

He hurried back into the bathroom, spit out the toothpaste and dropped his toothbrush in the sink, and headed to his bedroom. He pulled on the first shirt he saw. It was a little short, and a little big around his midsection – must have been his dad's, then – but it would work. He'd probably end up taking it off before too long, anyway.

He realized that he should probably head back to the living room so that they could leave already. He'd already wasted too much time contemplating who in the living hell's shirt he was wearing, now he just needed to get back to Joshua Barkovitch.

"Okay," Parker said after making his way back to the living room. "We can go."

Joshua Barkovitch apparently found this funny. Parker felt like hitting him for a second, then remembered that he probably shouldn't because this was _Joshua motherfucking Barkovitch _he was talking to, _Joshua motherfucking Barkovitch _that was going to teach him how to be better at playing basketball. This was his senior year, he was _taking these bastards to state. _

The car ride to Barkobitch's house was awkward. Joshua Barkovitch had the radio turned up too loud and it was giving Parker a headache, but he wasn't going to complain because he cared more about basketball than he did about his head possibly exploding. He was nervous; what if this guy was actually as big of an asshole as his little brother – or what if he was a psycho? He wouldn't put it past Barkobitch to be psycho, what if Joshua Barkovitch was just taking him somewhere to be… raped and murdered or something? Not that he couldn't take care of himself if it came to a fight, but guys like these always had a fucking gang.

And these fucking gangs usually had fucking guns.

And, as badass as he, Collie motherfucking Parker, was, he was not Superman. Not all the way.

They eventually stopped in front of an average-looking, two-story, white house. The perfect picture of the American family. Parker got out a bit hesitantly. Joshua Barkovitch glanced at the garage door, which was closed. "Huh," he said. "Dad must be home. That's weird. Do you want anything for breakfast? I could convince Gary to make eggs or something. He's decent."

It took Parker a while to realize that Gary equaled Barkobitch. When he realized this, he shook his head. "Nah," he said. "Not hungry."

Joshua Barkovitch nodded and headed inside. Parker followed, still a little weirded out by all of this. It seemed too goddam normal. But he would be glad to get out of this goddam wind for a little bit while he was inside. He fucking hated weather. His mom had used to play the 'Sims' sometimes, and she once made a Sim family of their family and one of his traits had been 'Hates the Outdoors.'

And that was completely fucking right. Collie Parker hated the outdoors. He wasn't against exercise or… fuckin' vegetables or anything, but he was against the outdoors. Super-against the outdoors. Thankfully, Barkobitch wasn't sleeping in a tent or something. No, he was sleeping in a king-sized bed, on his stomach, his lower half under about thirty blankets and nothing covering his top half. There was a stuffed Dumbo elephant hanging above him – Christ, was that a _noose _around its neck? Kid had some issues.

Joshua Barkovitch looked at him staring at Dumbo and laughed. "I got it for him one year for Christmas because it's his primary degrading nickname for others. He responded by hanging it," he said. "It took him a while to learn how to make a noose but now he's a pro at it. He learns a lot of weird things when he's up here all alone. Tying nooses, walking on his hands-"

"How the fuck does he have room for that?" Parker blurted out. There was barely enough room for that gigantic goddam bed.

"He's short. He can do it on the bed. Makes him even better," Joshua Barkovitch said, shrugging. "He also has a couple of books basically memorized. He doesn't read much, but when he does read, he reads until he has the thing memorized."

"That's weird," Parker said. Barkobitch, apparently an extremely heavy sleeper, didn't react to their conversation. Parker wondered if he should poke him.

…

Gary Barkovitch was in that half-asleep, half-wondering what the fuck was going on state of mind. He could hear people talking – Josh and some other guy that Gary couldn't quite place but knew that he didn't like.

That didn't really narrow it down.

"Okay, let's just drag him out," Josh decided, and then Gary's legs were grabbed by some muscular freak, by the feel of it. He clawed for something to hold on to and came up with a pillow and Dumbo. He dropped the pillow and focused his efforts on holding onto Dumbo for dear life. Muscular freak kept pulling, with Josh encouraging him.

Now Gary knew who it was. It was that fucking Collie Parker. He kept his eyes closed as the rope hanging Dumbo to the ceiling stretched and stretched and finally broke. Gary let go of Dumbo and let himself be pulled out of his bed and onto the nice, heated floor.

"I'm not getting up. Leave me alone. Now I have to tie a new noose for Dumbo," Gary mumbled, still half-asleep. He buried his face in some dirty t-shirts and wondered if he could sleep right there. Unfortunately, he was picked up and set on his bed. He sighed and reached back between the mattress and the wall and pulled out a suitable piece of rope.

"What're you doing, Barkobitch?" Parker asked. Gary ignored him, tying a noose ad fitting it around Dumbo's neck. He re-hung the stuffed elephant and turned to Josh.

"What the fuck is going on," he said flatly.

"I'd either be a bit quieter or keep the profanity to a minimum," Josh said. "Dad's home."

"Really?" Gary asked. Josh nodded. "Okay. So. What's going on."

"We're going to teach you how to play basketball!" Josh said cheerfully.

Gary wondered if there was enough time to make a noose for himself.

* * *

**usually i'd have the basketball stuff in the same chapter but this was taking me an obscenely long time to finish so i'll just have that stuff in the next chapter**


End file.
